


The Worlds Greatest Assassin

by BunsterKeaton



Category: Gaia Online, gaia manga, gaiaonline - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Injury, Death, Gen, Other, dref der, mainly just vagoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunsterKeaton/pseuds/BunsterKeaton
Summary: If you're good at your job, you don't need to take precautions.





	The Worlds Greatest Assassin

It’s just like any previous job.  
Except you are now armless. Although accommodations have been made, this is a bit of a game changer. But slight, if you played video games you’d consider it a level cap in a PVP zone. You don’t play videos games.  
Or at least you say you don’t.  
At least, not enough to know the terms _‘level cap’_.  
Or at least know it but never actually know what it really means. Seen, briefly.  
A better comparison is when Cordell insists on putting the dictionary away on her end but allowing you and the others to have them. Cordell always wins.  
You don’t care much for scrabble.  
Not the Cordell wins part. The games just rigged.  
Secret dictionary. Hidden.  
In her big. Elf. Ears.  
Anyways, you had put your…arm-dictionary away. Or, it was eviscerated without consent. And even with that, the games still rigged in your favor.  
You’re the best assassin after all.

The accommodations are simple, well as months of retraining simple. Sniper rifles often requires two hands to maintain balance, even if propped on the floor. Using something that you think of as an arm sling just put together in a way that made it Kuro brand fancy the weapons smith gave you a way to hold the rifle steady and the ability to aim with other hand. What they want to see if how the recoil is handled and how the aiming is affected in the field and a high stakes environment.

You say it looks stupid and they should give you a robot arm.  
They say they’re working on it and they want you to have other options if the prosthetic come under damage.  
You say they should just make a backup prosthetic then.

You hate how all the Kuro’s need some sort of plan b.  
Why don’t be the best at their job? Then they don’t need a plan b.  
They should be like you.

You assemble the rifle’s low pod and place the rifle on it to face the four windows. Your stomach presses into the gravel and you smell smog, nicotine, and other god-awful stenches. You don’t necessarily hate it but it becomes an annoyance when you’re play the waiting game and in every other corner of this floating city there’s a brawl you can’t be part of.

You’re in Dref Dur. You’re the best assassin and your taking a job in Dref Dur.  
You don’t fault Cordell-although you think Ambrosia may have been the first to suggest it you don’t fault her either. They’re line of logic, makes sense. These new accommodations for your new handicap needs to be field tested in a place that can’t be tracked to you or directly to the Kuros.  
Dref Der is known for messy ends.  
No investigations. No questions.  
An easy mark, if the weapon misfires, or some other unseen contingency occurs, it’s easy to cover up.  
A good way to get back in the game. Sure, if you were an amateur.  
But you’re the best assassin.

The first contingency, of course (you’re so smart to think of this) is that Kuro’s have bullets of their own brand. After Luca hired like what? The entire fucking island? It would make sense to use Kuro bullets the island would be laden with it. But these are new. Even slightly.  
Plus Dref Dur locals have the ability to spread out a bullets uses or even create knock offs. Pocketing a few bullets modified-or- de-modified? Cordell would know. Make a mental note to ask later.  
You’ll most definitely forget to ask.  
Anyways, you pocketed them easily. Wore an ugly coat with a patchy hoody and even a doctor’s mask that’s popular with kids who don’t trust air or something. Made you realize you should carry mints more often.  
The problem with these bullets is that they might not deliver a killing blow. Or may cause a malfunction.  
The only problem is that you have a morbid curiosity of how it can go wrong.  
Either way, you’d get out. You’re good at that. No contingency plan needed.

It’s like any previous job, it’s easy. Don’t think about how your chest tightens and the ghost of your hand twitches at the thought of an unseen bosses’ punishment on the ‘ifs’ of messing up or backing out.  
There is none of that. Just you, and the target.  
He’s ugly.  
He’s ugly and you forgot why they wanted him gone.  
Probably because his pasty I-know-how-social-media-works café drinking temperament should not exist.  
Yeah that makes sense.  
He probably had his parent buy him this loft, so he can write a think piece on the going on in Dref Der.  
Oh shit, that is why.  
If he gets any closer and he might find the kuro’s, amongst other families are still not to be trusted.  
Wait why the fuck did they issue brand spanking new Kuro bullets? What idiots would do that?  
You reach for said bullets and you once stitched eyebrows unfurled.  
As your mouth silently makes and elliptical shape  
you realized that these are bullets made to look like new Kuro bullets. But shell and font is ostensibly Modeisto.  
Right.  
At least you have a souvenir.  
A handful.

He’s still typing. You shift, returning to your sight, watching him. Typing away at his life. Every key smash a second counting down to a premature death. He didn’t appear to be expecting anyone. But you wait. He looks at his watch and finicks with his phone. He’s a loser so it’s definitely food. Could be a good way for the police to find him. The time frame would mean shoot him once or twice fly in smash up the place, his dumb computer. Take the usb. Make it look like a robbery. Leave as the sop with his take-out knocks on the door.  
You almost want to stay just to see the delivery-persons face. The sheer horror.  
Also they might drop the meal and you’re feeling kind of peckish.

Seeing as he hasn’t checked his phone, he just placed the order. Good.  
He's back to typing. You think about the impact. Your gun trained on him. How the splatter will dress the laptop and keyboard. The spiderweb of an entry point on the glass. The beautiful possibility of a clean exit wound.  
Then there’s the possibility of him become a swiss cheese-man you’re hungry- of bullet wounds. See how many liters that lanky frame contains. Sure, it’s sadistic but you have to entertain yourself when it comes with a job that requires a lot of patience.  
You’re bored, let’s just get it on with. Make a long exhale and follow with a similar inhale.  
Time slows down. The sights firmly planted on his head. But you can almost here him tap tap tapping away. Blood rushes as a morbid-giddy excitement rises.  
If this were a cool movie It’d have that audio goes _‘thmp thmp thmp’_ for your heartbeat going to the beat of the taps showing that both of you are in tandem. Two beings that never met intercepted. Now one.  
Wait. No. That doesn’t sound right for an assassination.  
Anyways, you pull the trigger. Silence deafening the pop, but not the sound of glass.  
You move quickly. Near robotic reactions three more bullets fired, although the man quite obviously is slumped over and gone. Then you stop being a person and become a hoard breaking into his apartment, taking a pistol with you. You mess up the place.  
You Pause. And consider how things would be thrown with both hands or the other.  
You make adjustments.  
Bloods rushing through you. His phone vibrated.  
15 minutes away.  
You bust open the laptop and take what you think is more than likely a hard drive, pocketing the usb as well. You pocket things considerably expensive and look for any evidence this man has collected.  
You don’t think it’d matter. Police are corrupt. But sometimes someone thinks they can fix things and if that one in a million person were to take this case?  
You drop an expensive candelabra as you scurry (ensuring to kick a rug) towards the wind with a fire escape. You loosen a jewel from some weird ‘conversational piece’ and drop it on the latter. Then you return to the roof and place the rest of the bread crumbs in a gym bag. You begin to disassemble the rifle. Thinking about all possible ways to distribute these items to ensure the fact that it’s a wild goose chase.  
New disguise. Shoes that make you look taller. Obscuring scarf. Beanie set to the side slightly to show you’re hip. Screaming from across the building. Different hoodie- screamingfromacrossthebuilding.  
_Oh, Right, right, right._  
Food.  
They’re human. And too focused on the body.  
Their reaction to your newest performance is phenomenal. They dropped the food. Looks Chinese. You’re hungry.  
they’re scrambling to jostle the man awake. You put sunglasses on realizing your eyes glow.  
They’re learning that dead people can’t wake up-well. Usually.  
Well. This guy isn’t.  
They’re in a state of panic and touching the room, wiping blood on the walls and quickly looking around. For what? Anyone else?  
You see them tense as the possibility of the killer could be in the loft.  
They run out the door. You quickly take this opportunity to get your dinner.  
Eat first, then spread the evidence around.  
After all.  
You earned it, you’re the best assassin.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this so fucking long ago dude. Im getting used to the formatting uh bye.


End file.
